Eating Local

This past weekend I went out and ate extremely local. The kind of local where you see your food living that morning and by supper time its in your belly. I went squirrel hunting for the fourth or fifth time this year (in my whole life actually), but this hunting trip was different because I actually saw some squirrels.


When people asked me how my weekend was and what I did they usually had pretty disgusted looks when I told them I went squirrel hunting. This is somewhat surprising to me in the state of Alabama because not too long ago squirrel was probably a fairly common meal for most of the residents of this state. As a matter of fact, when you get just an hour or so out of the city you will find that eating squirrel is nothing special.

Even though squirrel is not the tastiest of meats, that was not my main motivation for hunting that morning. As always, my morning spent in the woods was pretty amazing. The first squirrel showed himself to me not five minutes after I had made myself comfortable under a tree. I was shocked. I have spent numerous fruitless hours in the woods barking and calling squirrels, hoping to deceive them into revealing their locations without any luck, and here there was this young squirrel coming right up to me.


I wasn't wearing camouflage so I remained very still. He approached and passed within ten feet of me on the ground. He knew I was something strange, but didn't know what to make of me. At first I was tempted to let him go. He looked small. But then I realized that squirrels really aren't that big to begin with. As I watched him begin to ascend a tree I started thinking about all the times I had passed squirrels in the quad, tossing them a piece of fruit or acorns, but never been able to actually bag one of these elusive creatures in the wild.

As I considered all these things, the squirrel stopped, looked at me. And started shaking his tail at me. I knew it was a matter of seconds before he began to bark at me, a warning to his arboreal comrades. I decided enough was enough and it was time to end this. I came around the tree I sat under, coming up into a kneeling position as I turned my body. The bead of the shotgun went to the squirrel reflexively as I took my finger off the trigger guard and squeezed the trigger, sending a volley of No. 6 death towards the arrogant critter.

As always happens to me after I take a creature's life, whether it be a deer, fish, or ant, I began to feel a terrible remorse. This is the product of being raised by hippies who taught me to respect all life. Contrary to what some in my family and circle of friends might think, I maintain that it is possible to respect a creature even while you take its life. I brought the squirrel back to my tree and ensured that his life ended as quickly as possible and hoped it was as comfortable as possible, considering I had just shot him.

After sitting with my first kill for some time I decided to walk a bit down to the river, where I heard the squirrels were plentiful. I set my squirrel down under one tree and then sat down across the trail from him. Within 30 seconds of sitting down I sensed a presence above me. I looked up to see a mature red-tailed hawk sitting on a branch just above me, obviously eyeing my squirrel friend. He was just as surprised to see me and flew off. I picked up my squirrel and returned to my first spot, determined not to compete with the local residents for food, they probably need it more than me.

Within a short time I had killed another squirrel and met back up with my fellow hunters. Altogether we killed 10 squirrels. A pretty successful hunt, even though Alabama law allows 8 squirrels per hunter per day. We took the harvest back to our camp, cleaned them, and submitted the meat to the chefs. That night we feasted on squirrel with dumplings and home grown vegetables in a rather luxurious log cabin. As I ate I thought about how I was probably experiencing something that I could relate to my forefathers with, who subsided off of the small game their elders taught them to hunt. I took a second to appreciate this, then returned to watching Deal or No Deal and gnawing on a bone.

guns&whatnot

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure to go to a local shooting range with my room mate. I brought along my Cz75B in 9mm, Ruger 10-22, and Remington 870 12 gauge. My room mate had no firearms experience to speak of, but wants to be a police officer of some sort so I thought he would enjoy it.

I was right. We had a great time shooting the 9mm and shotgun, and then, when we were shooting the puny 22, a man sat down at the bench next to us with something that got everyone's attention. He was shooting a bolt action .50 caliber rifle. It is hard to explain how truly amazing it is to be near this rifle while it is shot. The best thing I could compare it to is the feeling you get when the bass drums go by in a Mardi Gras parade, times a million. The sound reverberated in my chest as my hair was blown back and my mouth and nostrils were filled with the hot sweet stench of gunpowder. Overall it made me feel proud to be an American.

To those unfamiliar with these weapons, they seem scary. In the hands of a trained marksman they can be used to take out human targets at distances well over a mile. They are loud and big and they fire a big cartridge which contains a big bullet. All these things make 50 cal weapons prime targets for those who seek to limit what the Second Amendment allows citizens to own.

I took all these things into effect and I looked around at all the people, myself included, shooting high capacity semiautomatic weapons. A Liberal's worst nightmare. But, contrary to what some might think, I never felt endangered that day, or any other day I have gone shooting, even though I was surrounded by strangers with guns.

I then considered the places I have been in my life and where I have felt safe and where I have felt threatened. Two years ago I visited Washington DC and New York City, two cities which have effectively banned the private ownership of handguns (which has been ruled unconstitutional). Despite the handgun ban, these are two places where I did not feel safe at all. Walking on the National Mall in our nation's capital at night was too frightening to attempt, and it turned out to be a good thing we took a cab that night, as someone was mugged at gun point on the mall not long after. I was in town 2 or 3 days taking tours of Georgetown University, during which time there were several shootings.

Of all the places I have been, Vermont is among those in which I felt the most safe. Interestingly enough, Vermont is one of only a few states where no licensing is required to carry a concealed weapon. Vermont also has a very low crime rate, even with a surprising lack of gun control. To me this says that guns aren't the problem, they don't commit crimes on their own.

All things considered, I feel safer living in an area where the majority of people own guns. I also feel comfortable knowing that a great number of law abiding citizens carry pistols everyday. But I don't feel safe knowing that I am disarmed on a college campus. It is proven that laws against carrying weapons onto campus do not deter criminals from doing so. I think the best protection against these crazies is to arm the good guys, people who practice and train and go out and get a permit and talk to their sheriff and decide to carry a concealed weapon to protect themselves and those they care about.

Disarmament is not the answer.
The Boy Scouts say it best...."Be Prepared"

A LEGEND

Paul "Bear" Bryant was a fantastic football coach. He has gone down in history as the "winningest" college football coach of all time. But looking around the Paul W. Bryant Museum at Alabama it is easy to see that Bryant is more than just a coach.

To many here at Alabama, he is a god. Fans of the Tide are constantly looking around for the next Bear. When we get off to a good start you hear things around campus like " We haven't played this well since Bryant was coach!" It isn't surprising that no one has lived up to the expectations of the die hard fans yet, and I don't think anyone ever will.

But really, Bryant doesn't have all that much to do with football. I mean when we start displaying Waterford crystal hats I think we are moving away from the topic of football. Bryant has been immortalized. He is remembered by students everyday who wear houndstooth coats, hats, boots, dresses, and anything else you can imagine. Chances are these students can't name the years that Bryant led the Tide to national championships and very few actual facts about the man. The legacy of Bryant has more to do with local pride than football.

The Bear gave something to the University of Alabama that can never be taken away. Houndstooth will forever be synonymous with Alabama's football dominance, but maybe that's not the most important thing. Reading some of the Bear's quotes got me wondering that maybe he would rather Alabama football players and fans pass down his legacy of having "class".

As the Bear said "As long as we have class, well, we'll be alright." In a time where more and more players are being punished for scandals like reselling text books for profit or getting into trouble on the strip, one wonders if the Bear wouldn't be disappointed in his school. How would the Bear feel watching disgruntled Bama fans shower a visiting team with trash? I have a feeling that the Bear would prefer us to improve our school's image off the field before worrying about how we look on field.